


Alucard Alone

by VendelaP



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Coping with Grief, F/M, Fantasizing, M/M, Memories, Multi, Vampirism, adrian is in love with trevor and sypha and he doesn't even know it, adrian recounts old memories and imagines the future, adrian struggles to deal with life in solitude, allegories and symbolism, alucard thinks about trevor and sypha all the time, blood-drinking, getting over the death of his parents, jealous alucard, middle ages references and content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23096173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VendelaP/pseuds/VendelaP
Summary: It’s strange to think how, just a little while ago, I was one of the most important people in the world. A savior of humanity. What am I now? Just a lonely man in a flowery lavender bath, reading old prose and moping around my castle keep. God, Trevor would laugh at that. I smile, thinking of his laugh. It was gravelly, but it was also very pleasing to listen to. His voice was really very enjoyable to listen to.I suppose I’m still a savior of humanity, but it’s just less pronounced. What am I expecting? Some sort of reward? There’s no reward for good deeds, not really. At least, not for me. God does not smile upon me, even if I do good in the world. I’m demon spawn, I’m a cursed child. Son of Dracula. What else was I expecting? It’s not as if any of my mother's good deeds were ever rewarded. She devoted her life to humankind, and they murdered her for it. I grit my teeth. Is there really justice in this world? It’s hard to believe.
Relationships: Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya & Trevor Belmont & Sypha Belnades, Alucard | Adrian Tepes | Arikado Genya/Trevor Belmont/Sypha Belnades, Dracula/Lisa (Castlevania), Trevor Belmont | Alucard/Trevor Belmont | Alucard
Comments: 51
Kudos: 61





	1. My Father's Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my new story, all about Alucard living alone after season two, and continuing through season three. Given that we probably have another year or two to prepare for season four, I'll drag this out as much as I wish.
> 
> HEADS UP: This story is about Adrian living alone, struggling to not become an alcoholic, experiencing trauma, and mental illness. It is also about his life as a bisexual person and trying to come to grips with being bisexual in a time when that is not accepted. There will also be references to times when he was emotionally/sexually manipulated. Obviously, when we get to season three, the rating will have to change and I will put a rape/dub-con warning. But, there's no rape yet, so don't worry. Lots of loneliness, though. Get ready to be saaad like me. You know who the major character death warning is for. Don't be alarmed. It's not Adrian, even though he kinda feels like he's dead.  
> And yes, the title is an homage to Avatar the Last Airbender: Zuko Alone.
> 
> PLEASE READ THE POEM AT THE BEGINNING.
> 
> PS: I am also working on my Dracula/Lisa fanfiction, Metamorphose and I will be putting out chapters for that soon so head on over there if you want something light and romantic.

Chapter One: The Narrow Aisles of Pain

* * *

**"Laugh, and the world laughs with you;**

**Weep, and you weep alone;**

For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,

But has trouble enough of its own.

**Sing, and the hills will answer;**

**Sigh, it is lost on the air;**

The echoes bound to a joyful sound,

But shrink from voicing care.

**Rejoice, and men will seek you;**

**Grieve, and they turn and go;**

They want full measure of all your pleasure,

But they do not need your woe.

**Be glad, and your friends are many;**

**Be sad, and you lose them all,—**

There are none to decline your nectared wine,

But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;

Fast, and the world goes by.

**Succeed and give, and it helps you live,**

**But no man can help you die.**

There is room in the halls of pleasure

For a large and lordly train,

**But one by one we must all file on**

**Through the narrow aisles of pain.**

-By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

* * *

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?” I ask. He does not respond. The sound is empty in the vastness of the foyer, except for my own footsteps. He is gone. His presence is no longer in this place. I used to feel him around me, in the air, in the aura of the palace, and know he was home. The castle was another part of him, in a way. It buzzed and whirred and hummed with an artificial sense of life much like his own. An undead life, that which is made of stone and steel but still moves, still thinks. But my father, he was much more than stone and steel. He felt. And loved. I remember his love, and now I almost wish I wouldn’t. I remember his large hand holding me gently on my shoulder. I remember his low, honeyed voice, reading me stories and educating me about everything and anything. I remember sitting on his lap as a boy, while he stroked my hair, braided it, kissed my forehead. He rubbed my knee when it was sore. He pulled me up when I fell down. I remember my father telling me he was proud of me, and that he was so grateful that I would be sharing in eternity with him. _We will be together forever_ , he had told me, _no matter what may come_. What a tremendous lie that was, and yet, I believed him. I wanted to believe him. I never wanted to imagine for a moment that I would be living out eternity all alone.

All of those memories feel differently now, tainted by the lurking knowledge of what it felt like to be hurt by him, to fight him, and to kill him. _My boy, I’m killing my boy._ That was my father’s voice, not Dracula. Not a monster’s voice. That was my dad, the dad I remember. He who raised me and loved me with all his heart. _Lisa, I’m killing our boy. We painted this room, we made these toys. It’s our boy, Lisa, and I’m killing him… I must already be dead._ And I remember it all, every single second of it. I remember the feeling of the stake sliding in, of his strong, beating heart, being crushed by my hand. The blood flowing out and down my arm. I cringe, even in memory. I remember the way he looked at me, his red, familiar eyes filled with regret and shame as he finally realized what he was doing. _Son._

But it was too late. And mine was the final betrayal, the final twist of the knife in his long, arduous life. Killed by the hand of his only beloved son. _Father,_ I had whispered, a desperate plea. Don’t remember me this way, I wished I would have said. Remember that I loved you. Remember that I had to do this. You left me no other choice. But the words died on my lips, and I was too horrified by what I was doing to say any of them. When I begin to recall his body changing, shifting to that of his true form, all but ash made of hundreds of years of destruction and sorrow, I stop myself. I cannot think of it anymore. It’s too painful. 

The railing is smooth and under my fingertips, the only thing that makes me remember that this is reality. I am here. And he is gone. And my mother is gone. And my friends, they are gone too. They are all gone and I feel like I am floating, even though my feet still touch the ground. Surely, this has all been some hell-induced dream. 

“Tell me this is a dream,” I whisper to no one at all. Surely, I will awaken any moment from this feverish nightmare, walk down the hall to my parent’s bedroom, and find them curled up there together in their bed. I will find them, resting peacefully in one another’s arms, their even breaths coming in and out, and I would know this was never real. This was all a figment of a demented imagination.

But the putrid stench of blood and death is enough to center me, bring me to the truth. Sypha and Trevor had helped me clear the bodies out, but their smell still lingers. I hate this smell. It disgusts me. I remember what the castle used to smell like, in a time that felt so long ago: old books, leather, wine, freshly baked bread, my mother’s apothecary garden, my father’s sandalwood cologne. Those smells of home are all washed away, forgotten. What lingers now is only death, and hate, and desperation. I look around the foyer at the mess made our battle, and yet I cannot bring myself to clean it up.

Instead, I go upstairs. I enter the reading room, my father’s favorite. I pick up the portrait of my mother. _A beauty among beasts, a rose among thorns_ , my father had said about my dead mother. She had always been beautiful, and kind, and merciful. Even to the end. I pick up my dad’s reading chair and stand it upright. I sit down, and I hunch over. It’s so quiet. A memory from my childhood comes to mind. I see myself, no more than ten, running through these halls. I’m laughing and blissful, and I stop to look at my father sitting in his reading chair. I smile, and it is a smile of youth. Pure happiness and unadulterated joy. I knew nothing of pain, and nothing of heartbreak. My world was small and pure and perfect. I knew only my parents. I knew only… love. I wave to my dad but my mother holds me fast, catching me in her graceful arms. I giggle in delight. I hug her and she looks to my father in his chair, a knowing sweetness in her gaze that I will never forget. It’s enough to break me. And, oh how I break. My heart shatters like it never has.

I cry, and I cry, and I cry. Warm tears run down my face and over my hands. I clutch my hair, I sob, I wheeze. It hurts as nothing has ever hurt before. This… this suffering, I have never known. The pain is so strong, so sharp, so poignant. The knot in my throat never relents, it only urges me to cry more. And I do. I sit in my father’s chair and cry until I can cry no more. I have no idea how long it has been. I have no concept of time. What does it matter? I am immortal. Bound to my suffering forever. I clutch my stomach in agony. It hurts. Everything hurts. Everything is pain, and sadness, and anguish. I cannot fathom this pain. At some point, I fall to the floor, and I lie there for the rest of the day, crying and drifting in and out of consciousness. Reality escapes me. I am plagued by the life I used to know and the love I used to have in my heart. It all pours out of me. It’s ripped out of me in cries, and screams, and desperate pleas to no one at all. All that happiness I used to feel is gone, sucked out of me like my father’s own soul was sucked out of him. Then, it’s nothingness, it’s emptiness. The sun has set. In an odd moment of clarity, I realize I must have been here all day. I turn on my back. There is no desire to do anything. There are no desires left at all. Only heartbreak. Only… death.

I awake the next day in confusion. I forget where I am, what I am, what I have done. It comes back to me in one quick, painful snap. But I have no more tears. I have used them all, I have spilled them all. Instead, I pull myself up. It’s another day. And I am not dead. I have to get up. I find my way to my bedroom, in the upper spires of the castle. The room I used throughout all my teenage years. I sigh when I walk inside. A thick layer of dust covers its surfaces from a year of disuse, but it is still my room. These are my favorite books, my bed, my couch. It’s cold inside and hasn’t been kept, but I can restore it well enough. I take my bedding and sheets off the feather mattress and throw them in a pile on the floor. Next, the curtains and my clothing in my wardrobe. I will need to wash them all. Thankfully, my father invented a machine to wash clothes automatically, so I won’t need to do it by hand. I just have to get the washer up and running again. Shouldn’t be too hard, I think. I throw the blankets and curtains down the laundry shoot and make my way downstairs. I get the machine and running again in not too much time. There is still soap down here, thankfully. The laundry room hasn’t been destroyed. I dump the linens in and add some soap. The pipes still work down here, so I switch the tap on and fill the washtub partway with water. Then I close the lid of the machine and turn it on. It whirs to motion, and once I hear that it’s working, I head back upstairs with a couple of rags.

When I’m back in my room, I begin to clean. I take a rag and wipe down all of the tables and surfaces, including my books. I let the dust fall to the floor. When that is done, I find a broom and sweep all the dust away. There is probably some magic I can use to speed the process along, but I don’t bother. I have all the time in the world, and it’s nicer to be doing something instead of remaining idle. What Trevor and Sypha are doing now? Are they at the start of a grand adventure? Without me? When the room is swept it still looks a bit dull so I scour for some wood polish and make that my next activity. There used to be servants for this low work, but no longer. As I sit and polish the floors with my own hands, I realize I don’t actually mind it that much. Will Trevor and Sypha be okay, out there on the road? Do they miss me yet? It’s only been a day. Probably not, I think. They have each other. 

I hang the laundry to dry and go find my mother’s kitchen. It wasn’t ruined, and I’m very grateful for that. Her cooking things are still in place... pots, pans, and assorted cutlery. Spices on racks. Dishware. But, there’s nothing to eat. Yesterday, I did nothing but cry and my stomach is angry with me for it. I haven’t eaten properly for a long time. When I glance out the window, I notice that the sun is already setting. Well, it’s not too late to hunt. I suppose I could go for a hunt. Maybe it would feel good. And, I like the idea of it, so my mind is set. Effortlessly, I transition into my wolf form and start walking forward on my paws, out of the castle. The night is crisp and beautiful. All of a sudden, I get the urge to run, and so I shoot forward, running into an all-out sprint. It feels good to have the wind in my thick fur, and the sting of the cool night on my eyes and my nose. My paws hit the ground very lightly, barely touching the surface. It feels almost like flying. This helps remind me that I’m alive. When I feel satisfied with the run, I stop and begin the hunt. I watch and I wait and listen to the forest around me. My night vision is bright and I can see very far. Suddenly, there’s a snap of a twig. My nose twitches. I can smell her; a young fawn. Unfortunately for her, I’m hungry, and within a minute, she is mine. 

The bite feels good, as does her blood in my mouth. I drink some of her blood to satisfy my thirst, and then I pull out her entrails leave them on the ground. I drag her back to the castle. It’s not proper to just eat her out here, like a wild animal. I have a kitchen. And venison tastes better cooked, anyway. I’m back home in not too long. I take the fawn to the carving room, skinning it and cutting up the meat. I wipe down the countertops and sink in the kitchen before I start to prepare my dinner. I get the stove working, set a clean pan on top, and cook the filet mignon. It needs to be flavored a bit, so I do that too. Trevor likes meat. Sypha prefers vegetables. While it’s cooking, I go search for a nice bottle of wine. The cellar is mostly dilapidated, no doubt from the fights and my father’s generals drinking their fill, but there are still some bottles left. It’s nowhere near what the collection used to be, but I really shouldn’t drink that much anyway. I don’t want to end up an alcoholic like Trevor. I find a good bottle of ten-year-old Merlot, and take that up. The venison is cooked well enough, so I get a plate and silverware. I’ll have a proper dinner, at least. Bring some fucking civility back to my messed up life. I cork the bottle and pour some out, enjoying the rich aroma that fills the air. It’s very good, and the burn down the back of my throat is positively wondrous. A sigh escapes my lips. I light a couple of candelabras. I can see in the darkness, but the light is simply more pleasant, more comforting. More human. I take my steak to the table and sit down. The taste is good, the meat being very fresh and tender. I didn’t realize how hungry I really was until I began eating. And drinking. A bit too much really, because in not too long I’ve drunk half the bottle and my head is starting to sway a little, the pleasant fog of drunkenness washing over me. I think about Trevor and Sypha, preferring thinking about them to thinking about my dead family. I recall our previous conversations, out on the road. I run them over and over again in my head. I can hear his low, gravelly voice, and Sypha’s sweeter higher one. I remember their laughter. Is it pathetic to miss them already? Because I do. I drink some more wine and slump back in my chair. I wonder if they’re talking about me. Maybe not. Maybe they’re just excited about being together. I remember the way Sypha looked at him, the way she made him laugh, and the way she held his hand. She’s fallen in love with him. I know it. My heart still hurts for it. I try not to let it affect me. Why would she be with me, anyway? I’m a _sulky, half-vampire bastard,_ who would want me? The cursed son of Dracula, destined to live in agony for all eternity. I’m too serious, I’m too sad, I’m too lonely. Trevor’s charming. Trevor’s human. Of course, she’d pick Trevor. And she has. I felt that well enough. The wine is really making my head swim. It’s so quiet outside, even nature outside is quiet. I can hear all my own thoughts too clearly. The sound of my own sighs is all that there is. I wonder if they’ve kissed each other yet. Maybe. I wonder if they’ve had intercourse yet. Probably not. Well, maybe they have. How could I say? I’m not there. I’m barely here. I barely know what reality is anymore. 

My dinner is gone, but I don’t feel like getting up. The house is so fucking quiet. It’s absolutely still. I rest my head on my hand, propped up at the table, and I sigh for the thousandth time. I’ve already cried so much, and I don’t feel like crying again tonight. I would rather distract myself. The emptiness of the room really starts to bother me. The stiffening silence of no one, no one at all. The castle’s last lonely inhabitant, drinking myself into a stupor so I don’t have to think about the fact that I’m all alone here. And yet, I do. Sighing, I leave the dishes where they are. I don’t feel like taking care of them. When I get up to leave the kitchen, I look down at the wine bottle, conflicted. I want to take it up to my room and drink throughout the night, blinding out my thoughts altogether, but I know I shouldn’t. I don’t want to get in that habit. I won’t become a drunkard, it’s such a pathetic existence. So, I re-cork the bottle and return to my room. My laundry is dry, so I take it up and put my room back together. I make the bed. I light the fire in my little living area and warm my hands by it. For a moment, I consider distracting myself with a book, but really I should just go to bed. I can feel tiredness and soreness setting in, from fighting and crying my heart out and sleeping in the back of a wagon for weeks. Mournfully, I look over to my empty bed from my place on the couch. It’s looking good and very comfortable now, with the bedding and curtains all clean and tidy, but it also looks so empty. So lonely.

All of a sudden, I realize I could care less about the comfort of a mattress. I would rather sleep in the tiny little wagon with my friends if I had the choice. It was better to sleep next to them in that uncomfortable thing than to sleep alone. But, I don’t really have a choice. They’re gone. Who knows when they’ll be back? Maybe they won’t return for a long time. They didn’t promise anything, after all. Sighing, I undress, throwing my dirtied clothes down the laundry shoot and walking around the bedroom completely naked. Why does it matter? There’s no one here to walk in on me, anyway. I walk around the room and light a couple of candles. The smooth wood floor feels good under my feet, clean and cold. A feeling I remember so well. Yawning stirs me to realize how deeply tired I am, again, so I open my wardrobe and root out a nightgown and slip it over my head. I slide into the covers of my cool sheets. It feels good, and I let out a deep exhale of relief as my body sinks into the plush feather mattress. Oh, I have missed my bed. And then my exhaustion overcomes me, and I fall asleep by thinking of the faces and voices of my two friends and our memories together. I’m still in a bit of a wine drunk fog, so I let myself imagine whatever I want with impunity. I imagine Trevor’s beautiful lips smiling at me in goodbye, and Sypha’s pretty blue eyes looking at me with mischief in her gaze. _My friends._

_A/N: Please review. Thanks._


	2. The Hand of Him Who Slays You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments on the last chapter! Please read this one. I would mean so much to me if you leave a comment, telling me what you think.

**Chapter Two: The Hand of Him Who Slays You**

* * *

“And they shall draw their swords against the beauty of your wisdom,

And defile your splendor.

They shall throw you down into the Pit,

And you shall die the death of the slain

In the midst of the seas.

_Will you still say before him who slays you,_

_‘I am a god’?_

_But you shall be a man, and not a god,_

_In the hand of him who slays you._ ”

Ezekiel 28: NKJV

* * *

I awaken well after dawn. The midmorning sun fills my room, and while such a sight would usually make me happy, my head protests it. I shut my eyes and groan, flipping over and pressing my face into the soft pillow. I had too much wine and much, much, too little water. The consequences are not enjoyable. My stomach’s in a knot, empty and unsettled. A dull ache fills my skull, and I feel the dehydration wracking through my body. Ugh, Jesus. Why am I such an idiot? I didn’t think about drinking water to balance out all that wine? I only remember being hungover once before, when I was seventeen. My father had thrown a party for the vampire aristocracy and I had been allowed to drink for the first time. The party was actually pretty fun, and I liked socializing with other vampires, but they kept pushing me to drink. First, it was just a glass of whiskey, and I drank it easy enough. It was bitter but I didn’t mind it. The idea that other vampires actually want to spend time with me dulled me to the thought that they had any ill-intent. And I favored the idea that they wanted to be my friends over the idea that they were pushing me to drink for some other reason I wasn’t aware of. 

And when a very lovely female vampire sat next to me later and handed me something concocted out of blood, vodka, and sweet ginger, I accepted it. I had focused much more on her cupid’s bow lips and perky cleavage than the drink itself. A vampire cocktail, I think she had called it. I don’t think I’ll ever have one again. After a few games of cards and several of these so-called “vampire cocktails”, I was dizzy and practically helpless. It felt so strange the first time. I remember feeling warm, and the world around me very, very fuzzy. My eyes weren’t working properly, and a heaviness slowed my movements. When I was thinking about retiring to my room for the night, I remember that vampire female touching me. I looked at her, but I said nothing. She ran her fingers through my golden hair as she spoke to me. I remember the feeling of her long nails teasing the back of my scalp, making shivers run down my spine. I hardly remember what she was saying. But I do remember how close she was sitting, and the feeling of her hand on my thigh. And her hand on my neck, strangely, stroking me there. I didn’t even have time to think about what was happening, or what I felt about it before she kissed me. It really took me by surprise, and I got a little nervous, but I hadn’t stopped her. 

My heart was pounding as I thought about the rest of the vampires in the parlor watching us kiss. I felt like I was on display somehow, but the liquor flowing through me prevented me from being fearful. It was a very strange sensation because it was so new, but my drunkenness and general state of stupor prevented me from stopping it anyway. Besides, her soft lips felt nice against my own, and I actually liked feeling like an adult, despite the strangeness of the situation. I don’t know how long she kissed me for, but as suddenly as she had kissed me, just as suddenly had she drawn away from me. I remember looking at her with wide eyes and a rapid heartbeat in my chest. Her gaze was over my left shoulder, at the entrance of the room, and she had very quickly withdrawn from me. I looked over my shoulder to follow her gaze and there stood my father, all seven menacing feet of him, glaring over the room. His eyes were red and his brows were furrowed. The gaze in his eyes when he looked at the other vampires in the room was nothing short of menacing, but when his gaze fell on me, my expression doe-eyed and confused, he softened. 

_Son, come with me._ He didn’t sound angry at me, and for that, I was supremely grateful. I remember following behind him, my head swimming, and hearing him talking to me, but I didn’t really understand. I just wanted to sit down.

 _Adrian? Are you alright? Did they do anything to you?_ He had asked me, placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me in the hallway. I don’t even remember my answer, I think I just shook my head. 

_I’m going to help you get to bed, son. Can you climb the stairs?_ He asked me, and I nodded. He guided me to my bed, removed my shoes and my jacket, and pulled the covers over me. I vaguely remember him sitting down on the bed beside me and smoothing down my hair while I fell asleep. 

The repercussions the next day were atrocious. I remember my mom coming to find me in the morning, hunched over the sink and shaking slightly. She sighed and held my long hair away from my face while I emptied the contents of my stomach. She had stroked my back soothingly, and taken care of me. I remember her cooing, 

_It’s going to be alright, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Sit down, you’re going to be okay._ I sat at the kitchen table and she brought me a large glass of water and another with some sort of mineral added to it. Aspirin root, I think. Then, toast and orange juice, which she pretty much forced me to take. It was hard to eat given the nausea, but I listened to her. 

_You’re lucky this is the hangover food I’m giving you, Adrian. Do you know what the common dish is to remedy a hangover? Tripe soup - Ciorbă de Burta. I don’t think you’d like that. You’re fairly picky about your food. I’ve had it before though, and it’s not too bad… It’s made of cow stomach, lots of garlic, sour cream, vinegar, and chili peppers._ I almost vomited, and I begged her to stop describing that horrifying excuse for food. She relented, smiling. _Okay, okay. Sit there, I’ll get you a cold compress. Listen to your mother, and eat the toast._ I did. She was the doctor, after all. And she was right, I felt better after a while. She laid me down on the couch and gave me a cold compress for my head. It wasn’t long before I felt back to normal. My dad made me promise him I wouldn’t drink so much after that night, and I had agreed. Back then, I didn’t have a need to drink at all, only my desire to fit in.

I’ve been lying in my bed for quite some time. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. No one is coming to help me. No one is here to comfort me anymore. My parents are dead and gone. Is this what it’s like, to fall out of privilege? For a brief moment, I empathize with Trevor. I always barrage him for doing this, and yet here I am, numbing my pain the same way as him. _Hypocrite_ , I think to myself. Groaning, I sit up in bed. My lips and mouth feel dry, and I desperately need to find some water. Aggravated, I get dressed and drag myself outside with a couple of large buckets. The morning light hurts my eyes and I squint the whole way there. My shoulders and neck feel tight. When I get to the river, I kneel beside it to drink and wash my face. It feels good, and relieving, at least for a moment. I fill the two buckets and trudge my way back inside the castle. I boil some of the water on the stove to make tea. The dry stores are still somewhat depleted, but I find some tea easily enough. I put the little metal tea strainer over my cup and slowly pour the boiling water over top. My back aches just as much as my head. I need to stretch. I need to take care of myself. After all, there’s no one else to do it anymore. What a privileged life I once led. My parents shouldn’t have spoiled me so much. It’s like I’m not prepared for the real world. I feel like I’m waiting… waiting for someone to rescue me, waiting for someone to comfort me, to tell me they love me and fix all of this bullshit for me. But no one is coming. I’m such a fucking child. 

When my tea cools, I drink it slowly. I look over the kitchen. It’s just as empty as before, but someone it doesn’t seem quite so lonely in the light. Maybe I should just avoid the nighttime, and sleep then so I don’t feel so alone. I don’t know. Maybe I should just accept my loneliness and try to come to terms with it. But, how does one do that? How do the monks do it, I wonder? Making their long pilgrimages and meditation retreats? Perhaps I should read about that. My father had told me a little about them: how they go sometimes for months alone, only praying and sleeping. Meditating. My father did it too, of course, but not for prayer. His loneliness was something much more sinister, something much more disheartening. It stemmed from betrayal, not spiritual enlightenment. His loneliness was aggravated by the pikes he kept out front. By the forest of the dead. He, the accuser, and them, the betrayers. They paid the ultimate price. And so did he, really, until my mother came to him. Those people had broken him, but he had bound himself to a life alone. He put up these walls around him, he placed the bloody spikes in front. I don’t want to end up like that. I want to have friends, I want to be loved. I sigh as I take another sip. _Will anyone ever love me? Will anyone ever tell me that I am theirs?_

I don’t know. But I do know I need to get up. I need to do… something. I should eat. Clean myself. Curiously, I touch my hair. It’s greasy and slightly dirty with dust. There’s a knot forming in the back because I haven’t brushed my hair in days. I hadn’t even noticed. God, I’m a fucking mess. How could I not even notice that I’m in this state? Am I that far gone? I suppose I am. This won’t stand. No, surely I will feel better soon. Once I’m clean and fed and well-rested. Surely things will improve. 

The taps no longer work in my bathroom. Not surprising, given that we wrecked most of the house. At least my bedroom didn’t get ruined. Except for my childhood bedroom, and I can’t, I can’t even think of it. How could I ever step foot in there again? I bite my lip. Focus, focus. How do I draw a bath up here? Or should I even bother? Without the taps, I’m going to have to take water in from outside. Shit, that’s a lot of work. But no, it’s good. I need a distraction. I need to keep my mind focused, a goal in place at all times. That’ll keep me from slipping. That will keep me sane. I need to keep moving. So what if it takes me all day to draw a bath? I have all the time in the world. I take my two buckets and walk down, down, down the stairs. Familiar paths, I barely notice my own steps. Only when the hallway is interrupted, of course, with chunks missing. That is when I am dislodged. The feeling is so fresh in my mind… my father pushing me through the wall, hitting me, kicking me. Slamming my head into the ground, over and over and over, making my skull throb and my- _No, stop it! Stop._

No more thinking about it, it’s done, it’s done. I grip the water pails tighter and continue my trek. Down to the river, inhaling the nature, filling the buckets, climbing up the stairs, filling up the tub, going back down the stairs, going out the river. After several trips, I am satisfied with the level of the bath. I light the fire beneath the tub to heat up the water. I think I’ll let it boil first and cool down, so I know it’s clean. Not that bacteria can really affect me in any way, I just don’t like the thought of it. While I wait for my bath to warm, I look around my room. What should I do? I’m hungry as hell. Maybe I should cook the venison I have in the fridge? Well, then the bath could go cold, and I’m not about to leave a fire going while I’m in the bath, so I’ll have to wait. Should I read? Maybe I should read, yes, that could be a good distraction. I walk around my room, deciding on a bookcase. They’re organized by category and preference: biographies, science, history, magic, art, and literature. Hmm. Literature, perhaps. A story would distract me well, hopefully. I go to the bookcase and run my finger over the spines, thinking. Ah, there… Culhwch and Olwen. That’s an interesting read. Originally, it was written in the 11th or 12th century, but this copy is far newer. It’s still in good condition, however. I remember most of the story: Culhwch’s father, King Cilydd, loses his wife in childbirth. After her death, he remarries, and Culhwch goes against his step mother’s attempt to have him marry his stepsister. Then, the stepmother curses him so he can only marry Owlen, the lovely daughter of the giant, Ysbaddaden. Culhwch falls under the Queen’s curse, bound to find Owlen, but his father tells him that he cannot find her without the help of his cousin, Arthur Pendragon. Arthur agrees to help his cousin and the adventures begin. It’s a fine tale, and I can read Middle Welsh fairly well. Or, at least, I used to. Honestly, I’m out of practice. I also take out Pwyll Pendefig Dyfed, _The Gentlemen of Dyfed._ I think I’ll read this first. Relaxing back on the couch, I try to focus. It takes me a while to adjust reading in another language besides Romanian, Chaldaic, or Greek, but I can read it nevertheless:

“ _Pwyll Pendefig Dyfed a oedd yn arglwydd ar seith_

_cantref Dyfed. A threiglweith ydd oedd yn Arberth, prif lys_

_iddaw, a dyfod yn ei fryd ac yn ei feddwl fyned i hela. Sef_

_cyfeir o'i gyfoeth a fynnei ei hela, Glynn Cuch..._ ”

I read aloud because I can’t stand the silence. It’s better to hear my own voice than none at all. I let the story take me away, pulling me into another world, one far away from here. It’s only when I hear the rolling boil of my bathwater that I stop. I put the fire out and go back to my seat. It will take it a while to cool off, so I return to the story:

" _Managaf", heb ynteu. "Llyma fal y gelly. Mi a wnaf a_

 _thi gydymdeithas gadarn. Sef fal y gwnaf…_ ”

After reading for some time, the bath has cooled, and I step away from my story, leaving the text on the end table. I remove my clothes and enter the bathroom. Tentatively, I feel the temperature of the water. It’s perfect, not too hot and yet very warm. Then, I go to the bathroom cupboard and look through my various bottles and bath salts. Hm.. lavender, I think. I take the soaps I want to use and my comb, putting them on the little table adjacent to my bathtub. Next, I pour the soap and bath oil in, which makes the air delightfully rich and fragrant. When I enter the tub, I sigh. This time, it is not a sigh of pain or loneliness, but a sigh of relief. God, does it feel good. The warm water soothes my sore body and relaxes me greatly. I dip backward, letting my hair fan out in the bathwater, so only my face is above the surface. It smells so good. I love flowery scents… I’m sure Trevor would make fun of me for that. I wonder what he would say. It’s a ridiculous thought. He would never be in the bath with me, anyway. God, he could use it though. His self-proclaimed “man stink” is pervasive and nothing short of a complex. I dunk my head beneath the surface and stay down for a moment. It’s great, feeling this warm. I wish my body was usually this warm. Humans don’t even appreciate their own warmth. I wish I had that warmth inside my body. Usually, my skin is cool to the touch. I can get warm, but it’s not my normal state. They’re so lucky. This feels amazing. Jesus, how long has it been since I’ve had a hot bath? I can’t even remember. I’ve been washing myself off in cold rivers for the last month. Not that I was focused on bathing while we were out on the road. Everything else seemed inconsequential in comparison to the task at hand, and I even gave up my sleep to prepare for the fight. Well, no longer. Now, I can rest and sleep for years. I could take a bath every day twice a day for the next ten years, and no one could say anything. It’s strange to think how, just a few days ago, I was one of the most important people in the world. A savior of humanity. What am I now? Just a lonely man in a flowery lavender bath, reading old prose and moping around my castle keep. God, Trevor would laugh at that. I smile, thinking of his laugh. It was gravelly, but it was also very pleasing to listen to. His voice was really very enjoyable to listen to. 

I suppose I’m still a savior of humanity, but it’s just less pronounced. What am I expecting? Some sort of reward? There’s no reward for good deeds, not really. At least, not for me. God does not smile upon me, even if I do good in the world. I’m demon spawn, I’m a cursed child, son of Dracula. What else was I expecting? It’s not like any of my mom’s good deeds were ever rewarded. She devoted her life to humankind, and they murdered her for it. I grit my teeth. Is there really justice in this world? It’s hard to believe. She deserved to be exalted, she deserved to be revered and thanked for her good deeds. They should have put up statues of her and left flowers at her honored grave, and instead, they burned her at the stake. Where is the justice in that? I wonder if God truly did tell that priest to seek out my mother. I wonder sometimes if God started this whole disaster in order to smite my father. In order to punish him. They had been enemies for hundreds of years, locked in contention of power and control of the world. When I remember the words in Ezekiel, I cannot help but think that God was talking to my father...

“Because your heart is lifted up,

And you say, ‘I am a god,

I sit in the seat of gods,

In the midst of the seas,’

Yet you are a man, and not a god,

Though you set your heart as the heart of a god

(Behold, you are wiser than Daniel!

There is no secret that can be hidden from you!

With your wisdom and your understanding

You have gained riches for yourself,

And gathered gold and silver into your treasuries;

By your great wisdom in trade you have increased your riches,

And your heart is lifted up because of your riches)”

Because you have set your heart as the heart of a god,

Behold, therefore, I will bring strangers against you,

The most terrible of the nations;

And they shall draw their swords against the beauty of your wisdom,

And defile your splendor.

They shall throw you down into the Pit,

And you shall die the death of the slain

In the midst of the seas.

_Will you still say before him who slays you,_

_‘I am a god’?_

_But you shall be a man, and not a god,_

_In the hand of him who slays you._ ”

And am I not the man who did slay him? Am I not that man who raised up a sword against him, my own father, a demon upon on Earth? Who threw him down into the Pit of Hell? I did. I bring my hands up above the water and look at them with disdain. W _as this his plan all along? Was I simply a pawn?_ And if God had intended this from the beginning, then I think it was a cruel trick, a vindictive plot. It makes me sick because I realize that maybe God had been waiting all this time to get retribution against Dracula, who challenged him and mocked his very existence. Perhaps God knew how I would respond to this. Perhaps this was His plan all along. I wonder if I really made this choice on my own, or if the prophecy is what led me to do it. And who is to say it was not God who formed that prophecy in the first place? God who planned this whole monumental tragedy every step of the way? I bet he knew how my father would react to my mother’s murder, and knew how I would react as well. _Maybe this was all just a plan to bring my father down to Hell and put him in his place._ After all, God is jealous. And after seeing my father being happy and content here on Earth, I wonder if his jealousy overtook him and made a plan to smite down my father just as he had smote down Lucifer, his fallen angel. 

I hate feeling like this. I wish I knew the truth, but part of me doesn’t want to know. If I was truly just a pawn in the games of God, to bring revenge upon my father who mocked him, then I don’t want to think of it. Really, what other choice did I have? Nothing else. I drop my hands and rest my head back. I close my eyes, and a part of me wishes God would strike me down too, and drag into the fiery pit, so I wouldn’t have to sit with this guilt any longer. But my grief is my punishment, and I must feel it all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE REVIEW


	3. Warm and Cold

**Chapter 3: Warm and Cold**

* * *

“ _The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved._ ”  
― Mother Teresa

* * *

I take a deep breath in, and I let it go. Inhale, exhale.  _ It will get better _ . I will get better. Surely, this feeling will subside with time. I did the right thing. If I just take care of myself and focus on feeling better, I will. Even if I have to fake it for now. I reach over the table beside my bathtub and grab my little vail of shampoo. I lather up my hair, breathing in the fresh scent. There are still some good things in the world. I think of my friends, Trevor and Sypha. Yes, there are still good things in the world. I rinse out my hair and rise back up again, the water splashing around in the tub a little. I wonder what they’re doing now. Maybe they’ve already found themselves in trouble of some sort. 

Trevor and Sypha are definitely the types to always find themselves in some sort of trouble. Trevor’s always getting in fights, both accidentally and on purpose. And Sypha, well, she always tries to help, and that’s another problem of its own. People are always skeptical of altruism. It’s in rare supply these days. I pour out some of the almond oil and run it through my hair. It’s really getting long, I realize, moisturizing it all the way to the ends. I don’t really feel like cutting my hair, though. It reminds me of my mother. And I like to think I inherited things from her. Like my little comb, sitting on the side table. She gave it to me a couple of years ago. Mother of pearl inlaid with beautiful and intricate designs. Originally a gift from my father, I’m sure. I run my fingers over it, thinking of her. 

When I was younger, I remember so much wanting to be like her. Hoping I would grow up to be as beautiful as she was. I remember watching her brush her curly, blonde locks in front of the mirror at her vanity. Stylish and refined. While I recall the memory, I start working the knots out of my own hair. My father called her Venus, for all her beauty, and I agreed with him. As a child, I would watch, from her knee, as she pulled up her hair and styled it, as she brushed her lips with rose-colored lip salve. I wanted to be elegant like that. Embarrassingly, I remember telling her this when I was a boy. I was maybe six years old. She looked down at me with her radiant smile and giggled, putting me up onto her lap. 

_ You want to what, honey?  _ She tucked a curly lock behind my ear as I stared at her in awe.

_ I want to be as beautiful as you are when I’m grown up. You’re so elegant, mom.  _ I whispered. She made a face at me, putting down her comb. I realize in retrospect that she didn’t care that what I had said was really much too feminine to be considered normal for a boy. 

_ I’m really not so elegant, Adrian. I’m just more mature. You will be elegant, one day, I promise. And you know what? You’re already beautiful, my boy.  _ I remember I giggled in pure joy at that, bouncing a little on her lap.

_ Really?  _ I covered my face with my hands in embarrassment and she kissed me on both cheeks. She radiated warmth and kindness like the sun itself.

_ Yes, sweetheart. You are. You’re my beautiful boy. Here, look in the mirror. See? You’re perfect.  _ With my arms wrapped around her neck, I had turned towards the mirror to look at my own reflection. Golden eyes and golden hair. Pale skin. My father’s brow. Maybe I was beautiful, I thought. My mom rested her cheek against mine. 

_ And you don’t need to grow up and look like me, Adrian. You’re beautiful and unique and distinctly… you. You are perfect just the way that you are.  _ I blushed so much my cheeks had actually turned pink. I locked eyes with her and she giggled at my complexion.

_ You’re blushing! Did I embarrass you, my love?  _ She smiled widely at my fierce blush and I was too embarrassed to say anything, so I simply ducked my head down and rested my head against her chest. She smelled like roses and summer. She held me close and wrapped her arms around me, kissing the crown of my little golden head. The memory fades away.

Finally, I have worked out the last of the knots, and my hair is smooth again. I take a bar of soap and clean myself, humming a little. I miss my mother. I miss her sweetness. When I finish, the bath is cool, and I step out. I walk across the tiled bathroom, dripping water, and grab a towel from the linen cupboard. Taking my time, I try my skin, and then my hair. The plush cotton towel absorbs most of the water. I brush through my hair again while it’s damp, taking my time. The sunlight from outside is filling the room. My sheer white curtains only block a little of the light, so most of it filters through. It’s nice. 

My large mirror is on top of the sink, and I make my way there after hanging up my towel to dry. Such large mirrors are a symbol of wealth, I know. And I always took them for granted in childhood, never really understanding that most people in the world have never seen themselves so clearly before. I take a look at myself in the mirror, and no longer in memory. No longer as a little boy. No longer beside my mother. Alone and tall and definitely a man. I’m almost twenty years old. I still look like my mother, but I also look so much more like my father now. I have his high cheekbones, his broad shoulders, his straight nose. The large pink scar catches my attention. It’s so jarring to see my marble white skin marred. I never used to carry any scars, none at all. And I can’t help but think that this scar marks me... the cursed prince. My father’s killer. No longer innocent. No longer a child. 

My gaze lingers on it for too long, and I almost let myself go back to that memory as well before I stop myself. My fingers start shaking a bit and it makes me angry.  _ Get a hold of yourself! It’s just a scar. Lots of people have scars.  _ I need to busy my hands. I reach into the cabinet and pull out some of the products I used to use. Maybe getting into my past habits will make me feel better. Feel more like myself. I take out some tooth powder and add water to make a paste, and then I brush my teeth. I take out my little jar of face cream and scoop some out with my finger. It feels wonderful and cool against my skin as I rub it in. It’s odd that these things are still here, somehow. It’s odd that my stuff is untouched. Being back in my old room, in my old routine, somehow it feels wrong. Too normal. I feel like I don’t deserve it, somehow. After moisturizing my face, I find my lip salve and put that on. My stomach starts to growl at me violently. Okay, that’s the next step to feeling normal. I need to start eating regularly again. Ugh, why does this all feel like such a chore? I never used to forget to eat. I never used to lack an appetite. The idea of going out to get groceries never seemed like an annoyance before. I suppose it’s because I feel like shit now.

But, it doesn’t matter, I need to go out. Get some air and some food. Yes, that’s a good idea. However, that means going into a human village. Am I ready for that? I suppose that I am. I’ll just keep my head down and not talk to anyone. Not look anyone in the eye. Hopefully, I won’t stick out too much. But Trevor’s words ring sharply in my ears,

_ You stick out like a sore thumb, Alucard. You’re too posh. You’re too… clean. Your perfect clothing is out of place here. That’s why people stare at you. And, you know, you don’t look entirely human either.  _ He was right. I look back at my reflection again. My eyes are too bright, too gold. My skin is far too pale, and my teeth far too sharp. Hmm, what shall I do? What can I do, anyway? I don’t have servants to get anything for me. Not anymore. I’ll just have to go to town. I can’t avoid it forever. 

Back in my bedroom, I venture over to my large wardrobe. I open the mahogany doors and begin to filter through my clothing. There’s so much to go through. I’ve always had a lot of clothes. A benefit of being a spoiled prince, I suppose, because I can have as many outfits as I want. In vampire society, fashion is all the rage. Dressing up is a necessity and a symbol of status. A symbol of power. And most of my clothes are made to be worn among vampires, and not in human society. Trevor is right, they are too posh. 

I look through my outfits, one by one. A tailored dark purple suit with black piping? Too much. A black crushed velvet jacket with white and gold embroidery? Way too much. All my clothes are too expensive. White silk blouses, red damask vests, royal blue tunics. I pass through the rest. There’s a dark green cotehardie that may work, but the stitching is so fine, especially on the embroidered collar, and it still looks too fancy. Because it’s still at the end of winter, it’s too cold to go out in just a shirt, and Trevor and Syhpa both made it clear that my normal black and gold coat catches too much attention. Finally, I find something that should work: a plain navy cotehardie with black buttons instead of pearl. That should do. I wear it with a pair of black trousers, a belt, and short boots. There. Fairly normal. I look at myself in the full body mirror I have next to the dresser. I turn around, seeing myself from all angles. It’s good, and not too attention-grabbing. I look almost human. As long as I keep my mouth shut, I should be alright. The only problem is my hair. I definitely remember Trevor’s comments about my hair while I was brushing it… 

_ You look like a fairy princess. Seriously, why do you wear your hair down like that? It’s silkier than the Queen’s, I’ll bet.  _ I just rolled my eyes at him, but Sypha had quipped back,  _ You’re just jealous. Nevermind him, Alucard. He just wishes he could be as pretty as you.  _ Trevor scoffed loudly and they teased each other back and forth.  _ Not true! I just- ugh, nevermind. Can we just get on with this, please?  _

When I look in the mirror I find myself smiling at the memory. I don’t even know why I like him. He’s kind of a brute. It’s common for men in nobility to wear their hair long, actually, not that Trevor knows any men in nobility. Not anymore. I suppose he would have been nobility himself if his family wasn’t murdered. Maybe my wealthy appearance actually hit a sore spot for him… seeing what he would have looked like if his family hadn’t fallen from grace. Hm. Anyways, I don’t want people to be staring at me when I’m out. I’ll put it back. Searching in my upper drawer for a ribbon, I find a black one and tie my hair back at the base of my head. It’s much less noticeable that way. Should I don a hat? Probably - it’s pretty sunny and I’m still getting over my hangover. I pick a black one with a wide brim and a little white plume. 

Now, should I go to the nearest town or the next one over? The next one over, probably. That way hopefully fewer people know about the castle. I grab a pouch of silver coins and my basket before I head out. It’s midday, so hopefully, I’ll be back home before nightfall. Not that it matters, anyway. I laugh to myself in a moment of utter loneliness as I walk out of the castle. Not that I’m scared of the dark. And not that I have anyone to come home to.  _ Vampire,  _ I hiss at myself. 

It’s a nice walk, and completely peaceful. Wallachia is really such a beautiful country when it’s not being torn apart by genocidal rampages or religious inquisitions. Old leaves from the fall crunch beneath my feet, along with twigs and any other thing on the forest floor. My step is light but steady. The forest is quiet. I think about Sypha.

I don’t understand why she picked Trevor instead of me. He doesn’t care about her the way that I care about her. I don’t get how she could pick that brute over me. What am I saying? I know exactly why she picked Trevor. He’s human. Human, human, human... With his mortal soul and his beating heart. Damn him. I wish I could hate him, but I can’t. They get on so well together. They actually make a very sweet couple together, and how the hell could I ever think she would ever pick me? How fucking self-deluded am I? Of course, she would never have picked me.  _ Vampire _ . Even if I am a halfbreed. Doesn’t matter. Not quite human enough. I never stood a chance, did I? I remember their harmonious, joyful giggling in the library. The laughter of lovers. I sounded like shattering glass to me. So close to them and yet so far away. Not in their thoughts, not in their hearts. The second they were out of view of me, they fell in love. It hurt. It hurts still. Why do I always have to be left out? Always? Why does this keep happening? What’s wrong with me? Why can’t anyone ever pick me? Am I destined to suffer like this forever? For, who could ever love a vampire? My mother did love a vampire, of course, and that’s the lurking reason why I thought maybe, just maybe, Sypha could have feelings for me. That maybe I could win her heart and her affections. That something could blossom between us. And just as I started to believe that it was possible, she crushed it. 

I tried so hard. I wanted her so badly. Who am I kidding? I still do. I still want her. Beautiful, kind, sweet, smart, lovely Sypha. Sharp as a tack. She’s honey and fire and she makes me melt. I’ve never met a human like her before. She has so much magical talent. Boldness and brashness and brilliance. Belnades. 

I tried so hard. I tried to be kind to her, to show her my affections, gently, subtly. To compliment her genuinely, to listen to her, to speak to her. I tried to be as kind as I possibly could be. When that didn’t work, I tried to draw her away from Trevor, and point out his flaws. I think that only worked against me. My stupid jealous pettiness getting in the way, only making things worse between us. At the time, I didn’t even realize how hard I was trying, or why. Now, in hindsight, I understand. All my affection, all my effort, was just wasted energy. Pointless, stupid love. Why do I even try? Why do I allow myself hope like this? Hope that someone will love me? Hope that someone will fill this cavern in my heart? Fill this emptiness and make me warm and complete? Sypha doesn’t want me. It doesn’t matter what I do. No amount of kindness or pleasantries or gifts will change her mind. It’s her and him. Them. Together. And me, alone. I don’t get to be a part of that. Of that love that makes my heartache and my chest burn. That love that keeps me up at night. I want it so much. More than anything. It’s what I want. But it’s not for me. It’s not meant to be. 

A part of me wonders if I would have done something differently, said something differently, that she would have chosen me. Doubtful. A pathetic thought, of course, she wouldn’t. And it doesn’t matter that we enjoy the same knowledge, and we appreciate the same things. It doesn’t matter that I am smart and Trevor is dumb. It doesn’t matter that he’s a destructive drunk. It doesn’t matter because he is warm and I… am cold. 

Suddenly, I realize I can’t see anything anymore, and I stop walking. Tears are running in thick rivulets down my pale face. A sudden sob rips through me even when I try to stop it. Fuck. Why do I care so much? Why does it hurt so fucking much? Why does this hurt so fucking much? I give up, falling down the forest floor in pathetic sobs. I bury my face in my knees, letting my long hair fall around my face and wrap me in protection from the horrible, awful, menacing world. I can’t get her words out of my head. I wish, so much, that I hadn’t heard them. I wish I would have been asleep. Those words haunt my dreams. They mess with my mind. They make me want to die. 

_ It’s like he’s a cold spot in the room. _

_ It’s lonely even when you’re standing next to him. _

When I finish crying, the sun is already setting. I don’t really know how much time has passed. I’ve thought and hurt so much, I can barely stand. Deciding that it’s too late now to go to the market, I turn around and head towards the castle. When I walk back, I grit my teeth, dried tears caked on my face. Why do I deserve this? I tried to do everything right. I wanted it so bad, I worked for it so much. Nothing matters. I receive no rewards. No kindness in the night. No warmth in my double bed. No friends anymore, because they are gone and far away from me. But they were far away from me even when they were standing next to me. They only want each other. For a second I think that they were surely dying to be rid of me, to get away from me. Just so that they could be with one another, without my loneliness weighing them down. They’re together in love and I’m alone.  _ Sulky half-vampire bastard, indeed.  _ Maybe I really am unlovable. 

When I reach the castle, I toss the baskets in the hall and retreat to my room. Up and up and up, farther away from the world. The world doesn’t love me anymore. No one loves me, anymore. When I enter my room I haphazardly undress, throwing my hat and my clothes on the floor, chucking my boots by the couch. I throw on my nightgown. It’s freezing, so I light the fire and sit beside it. My only warm companion left. I bet they’re perfectly happy together. I imagine that they’re probably beside their own fire right now, outside, curled up against one another. Maybe she’s resting her head on his broad chest. Maybe she’s curling up beside him. He runs a hand through her strawberry hair. She kisses him on the cheek, the lips. It hurts even more because I’m sure it’s true. How could it not be? They love each other and not me. Perhaps they’re together right now, kissing and touching and moving inside one another. I would never be on their minds. Or in their hearts. Their hearts are full of each other, full of warmth and happiness. And I am empty... I am cold. Suddenly, tiredness sweeps over me, pulling me down all at once. I trudge my way across the room into my large, lonely bed. I cry and cry some more. I cry until my voice wears thin and my eyes see stars, and I drift off into the peaceful, isolated abyss.

A/N: Please soothe your lonely author's soul with a comment. I love reading your comments. 


	4. Sanguine Ecstasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Adrian’s a vampire, guys. Don’t forget that. He has a human side and a vampire side both, and there might be some not-so-great coping methods in today’s chapter. Be forewarned. If you don’t like blood-drinking, well, you’re in the wrong story. Also, seduction is a theme today. 
> 
> There are also two lovely (and totally not creepy) song quotes to get you in the mood for this chapter. Enjoy.

Chapter Four: Sanguine Ecstasy

* * *

“ _Anything can happen in the woods. May I kiss you?_ ”

“Uh-”

“ _Don't feel rushed._ ”

“This is ridiculous. What am I doing here?”

“ _Let your hesitations be hushed. Any moment, big or small, is a moment, after all. Seize the moment, skies may fall... Any moment._ ”

“Oh, this is not right!”

“ _Right and wrong don't matter in the woods, only feelings. Let us meet the moment unblushed. Life is often so unpleasant. You must know that, as a peasant. Best to take the moment present._ ”

-Anything Can Happen in the Woods [Into the Woods]

* * *

“ **What is this feeling of power and drive**

**I've never known, I feel alive!**

Where does this feeling of power derive?

Making me know, why I'm alive

**Like the night, it's a secret**

**Sinister, dark, and unknown**

I do not know what I seek, yet I'll seek it alone!

I have a thirst that I cannot deprive

**Never have I felt so alive!**

**There is no battle I couldn't survive**

Feeling like this, feeling alive!

Damned by some heavenly stigma

**But blazing with life!**

**Predators live for the prey the pursue**

This time the predator's me!

Lost in a raging desire

**Fills my whole soul with its curse**

**Burning with primitive fire**

Berserk and perverse!”

-Alive [Jeckell and Hyde]

* * *

Before I know it, another morning has arrived. Empty and cold. I hear birds in the distance, mocking me with their happy little songs. I drift in and out of consciousness, my horrible dreams slowly fading away. My body is weak and in pain. I haven’t eaten or drank in far too long. Even after I take some water my mouth is still perpetually thirsty, and I know what that means very well. I need blood. All I’ve had for a week is a few sips of deer blood, which is practically nothing. I’m downright starving myself at this point, and it feels horrible. I cannot keep doing this. I owe it to myself to do better than this. This is pathetic. I’m pathetic. What, now I’m such a wreck I can’t even make it all the way to the market without breaking down like a toddler? Is that what I’ve become? That’s not me. I have to do better than that. I must.

Groaning, I shift to sit up in bed, pulling my legs over the edge. I let my hair fall over my face and I squint in the light. The sun hurts too much now that I haven’t had blood in so long. I use my magic to shut the drapes and pull myself out of bed. I need to hunt. Now. I know it. It’s been far too long, and I can’t go on like this. It’s a pitiful existence, going without blood. And I am not pitiful. I am Adrian bloody Tepes, son of Dracula. I’m not about to starve myself into a shriveled wreck. 

I get dressed, donning on my usual shirt and black pants, and then my boots and coat. It’s time to feed. The nearest town will do. I can’t survive on animals any longer. My throat is so dry, I can’t even swallow. My stomach is so empty, it’s torturing me. Enough of this. Time for a proper fucking drink. It will be easy enough to take someone in the woods. I can hear people, distantly, when I am outside. They are not too far away. Taking their dog on a walk, teaching their children how to hunt. Teenagers sneaking out to have intercourse away from the prying eyes of the town. They will be easy to hunt. 

After going without blood for so long, my ferality grows stronger and stronger. Blood becomes a solitary focus after a while. I imagine it, want for it, dream of it. Hot and sweet, sliding down my throat. My fangs extend to their full length, imagining the bite. In a minute, I’m down the stairs and out of the house. No need for my sword today. I shift into my wolf form and make my way to the nearest town. I don’t remember the name. Does it really matter? I am the predator and they, my prey. 

I could make quick work of them all if I wished to. The whole town, if I dared. I have more power and ability than all of them combined. But that would be a waste, and despite my ferocious thirst, I remind myself of my morality. My human side stands strong, never relenting. No, I will only take what I must. I have a standard to uphold. When I reach the town’s perimeter, I slow down. It’s shady here, under the trees. I’m silent as a mouse. My white ears perk up, and I listen intently to the sounds of the forest around me. Crunching of leaves, rabbits hopping, birds chirping, squirrels clamoring up trees. No, no, I need to hear humans. Where are they? 

I do a lap around the perimeter of the town, trying to sniff them out. My nose is very sensitive in this form, and I can tell very well who is nearby. Is no one out today? Is that just my luck? Perhaps I will have to venture into this town and seduce some human out into the woods in order to take my fill. I listen closely, but I hear no one venture out. They are not dead, however, I can hear the distant sounds of a blacksmith, hammering away at an anvil. Further, there are merchantmen gossiping about prices, and mothers scolding their young ones. They’re alive, very much alive. Perhaps these humans are under some order to stay in place. To not stray outside the perimeter. Interesting. Maybe they are aware of my castle and fear me already. No matter, then. I will go inside. Transforming back into my human form, I walk calmly into town. 

Now the voices are becoming clearer. It’s still morning. I can smell fresh bread, filthy dogs, smoke, and blood. Blissful, wonderful blood. God, I’m thirsty. My eyes scan the area. I’m approaching what appears to be the back of the forge, where the blacksmith is already at work in the front. I can smell him, but he’s farther away. And I’m much more interested in what is close to me, anyway. A young woman. She walks towards the bin of lumber in the back and begins to sort through it. She smells so good. Blood and life and youth. I can hear her heartbeat from here. I can feel it, almost. Quickly, I scan the area for others, and when I see and hear no one closeby, I approach her. She wears a simple white peasant dress and a black apron over top. Her long hair is held back by a scarf, leaving her pretty little neck open to intruders. Finally. I approach quietly, the sounds of the forge and the town fading out of focus. When she sees my shiny boots, she quickly looks up. Surprise washes over her plain features.

“Hello?” She calls out, her mind hopelessly failing to guess who I am. I smile handsomely, careful not to reveal my fangs underneath. Not yet.

“Hello,” I answer, my eyes shining brightly. 

“Are you here to see my husband, milord? The blacksmith?” She asks quickly, scowling in confusion. He can’t hear her. Not from here. The sounds of the fire and the smithy are too much for human ears, and he will have no idea what I am about to do to his cute little wife. 

“No, no. I’m here to see you, actually,” I purr, stepping closer in. She needs to look me in the eyes. The blacksmith’s wife scowls, concern washing over her features as I approach. She blinks, looking at my clothes or my hair. Not my face, not yet. 

“I’m not sure what I would help you with, sir. I’m not a smith myself... What’s your name?” She asks, looking over my tall frame and my fine clothes. I smile again, or smirk, more like. She takes the bait. My eyes glitter gold and temptation. 

“Adrian. What’s yours?” Before she even realizes it, I’m right next to her. So close. Too close. Then, she makes a mistake. A big one. She locks eyes with me. Pretty, foolish woman. Foolish little snack. Now she’s mine. What easy prey. 

She drops the log in her hand. My glamoring has overwhelmed her already. I’m magnetic, electric. Her brown eyes go blank, helplessly staring up at my gold gaze and my charming smile. I consume her thoughts and her head, blocking out the world around her. Her mind is slowing, fogging up, I can see it. Her world, usually clear and plain, is turbid now and cloudy with my seduction. 

“Andrea,” she answers. Her heartbeat slows under my magnetism. I’m free to bare my fangs now, and I smile, teeth and all. I touch her shoulder, very gently.

“ _Andrea_ , what a pretty name. It’s very nice to meet you.” My voice is soft and sweet in her ear, and she almost gasps. Andrea smiles back.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” she succumbs, happy in her entrancement. I lick my lips, looking down at her jugular, blood pumping underneath. I would have her here, against the smithy wall, but it’s possible someone would walk up on us, and I can’t allow that. Without a thought, I slip my hand slowly down her arm and thread my fingers through hers. She accepts. Sweet little prey. Her smile is infectious and I smile too. 

“Would you like to go for a walk, Andrea?” I ask, ever so gently. She nods almost immediately, her mind going blissfully blank under my hypnosis. I lead her, by the hand, into the woods. We walk for a while until we’re out of range of the town. Her heartbeat pounds in my head. A thumping stuccato - I can feel her blood. It calls out to me like a siren song. Yes, yes, yes. I can’t wait for it. I guide her towards a tall tree. She leans back against it easily. Her smile is still in place, and I can’t help but giggle at that. She is really overwhelmed with me, indeed. Andrea seems so happy she gets to my prey today. 

“What is it?” I laugh sweetly, leaning in, one hand on the trunk above her. I tuck a lock of stray hair behind her ear, and she smiles wider. She hums for a moment before she places her hand on my broad chest. 

“You’re very handsome… who are you?” Andrea wonders aloud, hypnosis ridding her of any premonitions she would normally have. I cup her cheek, smoothing her skin. Her heartbeat is starting to rise a little, a sweet blush coloring her cheeks. 

“I’m a prince, actually,” I tease, bringing her in. She is supple and warm under my hands. My free hand holds her by the waist. She blinks up at me.

“Really?” She wonders. I do enjoy playing with my food once in a while. It adds some excitement to my long, boring life.

“I am. It’s true. Don’t I look like a prince to you?” I’m beguiling, bewitching, and she is no match for me. Her brown eyes light up. She’s all ears for this. Her sudden fantasy, in the flesh.

“I suppose you do, yes. You’re a prince of Wallachia? Why are you out here?” Andrea wonders, sliding in closer. Our chests are pushed up against each other, and her heartbeat is so close. So wonderfully, magically, close.

“To see you, my dear. Aren’t you pleased to see me?” I ask as I guide her hands up to wrap around my neck, a romantic gesture. Andrea smiles coyly, a beautiful blush painting her features with pink, and she nods. She leans in, wanting for a kiss, and I think, why not? Let this be an exchange of pleasures. I press my lips to hers. She moans a little and leans into the kiss, pulling me in close. Andrea’s heartbeat is rising very quickly now. It’s very fast. She’s warm and soft and her blood is so near, so near to me. After a few while, I can’t take it anymore, and I break the kiss. For a second, I look her over, her arms wrapped around my neck, her heartbeat fluttering in her chest after my kiss. The blood is pumping through her veins, and I’m sure she’s expecting an entirely different outcome from this little rendezvous in the woods. It’s evident in the way her cheeks flush and the way her blood flows further, further down. She’s enamoured, bewitched. Good, this will be positively merciful. I smile in anticipation, taking my hand and gently tilting her chin to the side, so her long neck is on display for me. I kiss her there and feel a rush of desire and adrenaline go through me in an instant. I grab her tightly by the waist, pinning her in place, my fangs extending with a subtle hiss. 

I bite her. It’s perfect. Sweet, merciful blood blesses my lips. I drink her in. She’s youth and beauty and pure warmth. It fills me with life. She squirms a little underneath my bite, but it’s nothing much, and before long she slips under my intoxication. It’s a powerful spell, really, my hypnosis. Andrea doesn’t scream, she moans. My powers have seduced her well enough and she finds the sensation much more pleasurable than painful when she gets used to it. I moan against her neck. She tastes so good. Fuck. My mind goes blissfully blank and I suck without remorse. This is perfection. This is as close as I will ever get to love. Sanguine ecstasy in my mouth, sliding down my throat. I’m alive. I’m on fire. She’s moaning softly in my ear. Pleasure, purpose, pain. It’s blinding perfection. My teeth sink even deeper while a primitive desire overwhelms me, consumes me with dark and heady desires. I drink my fill, clutching her weak form in my arms. 

After several minutes of drinking from the fountain of youth, I finally relent. But the bliss, the bliss endures. My body is shaking because of it, the power and the feeling of life overwhelming me. I groan, slipping my fangs out of her neck. She makes a little whelp at the sensation. I lick the stray rivulets of blood that run down her neck, groaning without regard. Wonderful. _Ohhh_ … _fuck_. I’m so turned on. The sensation is overwhelming, making my head spin in pure pleasure. She twitches underneath my power and strength. I’m holding her in place, my hand firmly grasping her hair at the base of her head, pulling her neck taut. She’s pinned between my hips and the tree, breathing very heavily, but not screaming or fussing at all. The way I did it, I know I gave her pleasure too. There are many different ways to bite someone. This one, she enjoys. She sighs as my lips wrap around the little puncture wounds. I run my tongue over them, enjoying the last few drops of her lifeblood. I seal the openings, licking her skin a few more times for good measure, drinking up any spillover. When I finish, I peer down at her neck. It looks almost as good as new, only a bit of redness but no puncture wounds anymore. I try to ignore my hardened length that’s pressed against her. It’s distracting. A natural effect from drinking so much blood so quickly, but nevertheless. She’s pumping through me. I’m tempted for a moment, but I quickly release my tight hold on her and let her go. She slumps down against the tree, tired but healthy still. I cast a quick spell to make her forget,

“ _In nomine meo, me liberabit vos. Quae abiit abest. Dimittet et quid nosti melius, obliviscatur me._ ” 

Without another word, I take off. I’m running. Faster, faster, faster still. There’s life beating in my heart and in my blood. I’m alive. Alive and powerful. I jump in a flurry of movement, deeper into the woods, flying as I shift back into my wolf form. The world is white, blinding bliss. My troubles are forgotten in the flood of blood and pride that washes over me. I can barely see. And yet, I can see it all. Curiously, I stop dead in my tracks. I can hear everything, see everything, feel everything around me. The world is mine and I am the master. Everything is crystal clear and I run again, sprinting with all my heart’s desire. This world is pounding, endless, and no match for me. Nothing could harm me now. In the distance, I spot a stag. I almost laugh, but in my wolf form, it sounds much more like a growl. The stag hears my voice, but it’s no mind. The beast is no match for me, not even close. It runs fast, taking off in a dash, but I am faster still. No being could outrun me. I am speed and I am light. The chase is wonderful and I love every moment of it. I don’t feel pain, only pleasure. The intensity of the blood pumping through my veins and in my skull blurs out the world around me. My paws hit the ground with deadly force. There is only my power and my might. My will. I jump, flying with all the speed I have, and I win. My bite is hard, powerful. _Yes, yes, yes. Who’s pathetic now? Not I._

It’s not enough. I stand over the pitiful creature, my powerful paws pressing down upon his chest. More. More. I take off again, hearing his doe nearby. Blood drips down my pure white fur and I jump. Red and white. My heart is a drum, pounding. What is this feeling if not perfection? Pure bliss. Magnificence. _I am magnificent, aren’t I? I would never want to be any other way._ I pounce on the weakling, this doe, biting out her throat. No longer am I weak. No longer am I pitiful. No one could ever pity me when I am like this. When I am on fire, when I am so alive. On top of the world. I drag the doe, biting deeper, dragging her along with me, my prize. _Mine._ Her fresh blood smears my neck and down my chest. Effortlessly, I pull her to the castle, dragging her by the neck. Pure ecstasy surrounds me. This is my heaven. No lovers for me. Only blood. Only… death. I pull my prey to the castle, not even caring about the bloodstains. It’s not like this place isn’t ruined, anyway. I ruined it, along with my little human companions. _Ex-companions_ , I hiss at myself. 

I take the two little corpses up the steps of the palace and drag them inside. My only friends now are those who are dead. _But, ah, alas. This is the life of a vampire. And a vampire, I surely am._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever done drugs, kids? Please review! 
> 
> (You don't have to answer that question by the way)


	5. Back to Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alucard comes down off his blood-high.

“ _But there are other words for privacy and independence. They are isolation and loneliness._ ”  
― Megan Whalen Turner

* * *

When my blood-high wears off, I find myself sitting in my father’s high backed reading chair once again. It takes me quite a while to come down off the feeling of binging on blood after going without for so long. I feel better now, more energized, satiated. But, also very... off. A strange sensation is consuming me. I still feel tingly, sensitive. I’m just starting to feel my fingers and my face again. Curiously, I touch my cheek. I’m disgusted to find dried blood there. I haven’t even washed up yet. I turn my head to find my mother, who glares at me from her charming portrait, judging me for my ferality. What have I been doing for this day? I look out a window and scowl when I see the sun is already setting. What the hell did I do today? I was intoxicated for quite a while. I remember hunting, of course, but the rest is a blur. It’s hard to think. When I look down, I see that my shirt and pants are covered in various splatters of blood. Jesus Christ. I don’t even bother with drawing a bath, I just head outside with a towel and a change of clothes. I need to get myself under control. I’m spiraling. My whole body, every nerve, is still buzzing with energy, even if it’s died down from this morning.

I go to the river and wash myself, as well as my clothes, in the cold spring water. Who cares about my nakedness? No one is here, no one dares enter these woods. With so much fresh blood in my system, I can’t even feel the coolness against my bare skin as I step into the river. I wash the blood out of my hair, and then my shirt. Little fish dance around my ankles. I dip down and wade out, trying to collect myself. What is this strange feeling? I look up at the sky, the colors bleeding red and orange in varying waves, like the dyes in a watercolor painting. I miss painting. Why do I never make my art anymore? Oh right, because my father waged a war on humankind… I’ve been preoccupied. I miss it. Why is it hard for me to simply go and paint? I groan, dipping my head underwater. My mind feels strange, confused, like I’ve just woken up from a nap. Did I take a nap today? 

I honestly barely remember the events from earlier. It’s dangerous to drink so much blood, I know. My father used to always control my blood intake, and I never binged in childhood. I’ve only done this a couple of times now since my father attacked me. When I was on the road it was hard sometimes to sneak away to feed without attracting the attention of Trevor or Sypha. And Trevor was always suspicious. The Belmont Bastard. Sometimes I had to binge a little to get what I needed, as a result, of course. It’s not usual for me to do it this way. And besides, fighting took a lot out of me. I’ve been underwater for a long time, I realize, and I shoot up over the surface. Sighing, I look myself over to make sure I’ve cleaned myself properly and notice how gaunt my body looks. My stomach is concave, and my skin is starting to pull on my hip bones and rib cage. My wrists are small and pale, the veins extremely noticeable through my translucent, marble-like skin. I need to eat. I’m losing too much weight. How disgraceful. As I dry off, I try to remember the number of meals I’ve actually eaten over the past couple of weeks. I could count them on one hand. How pathetic. I’m not even eating. 

“You idiot, you can’t even take care of yourself,” I chide to me, and no one else. I’m going to get myself under control. I’m not going to act like this anymore. I’m not a child. Even if I am pathetic sometimes. I’m an adult, I can take care of myself. I have to. Trevor entrusted me to his family’s hold and his libraries, and all that knowledge. I made a promise to take care of myself, so people can use all the stored information in the castle and the hold, to not to turn feral and become some rapid vampire who forgets to eat and uses blood-binges to feel better about himself. I’ll get better.

After I dry off, I dress in the clothes I brought with me. Breeches, black cotton pants, a green shirt, a black vest. Socks, boots. There. I’m practically a person again. I feel embarrassed about this morning’s outburst, in a way. And I hardly remember it. Wait… Did I kiss a married woman this morning? 

“Jesus, I’m incredible,” my sarcasm only for my own ears. I’m such an asshole. I shouldn’t have done that. Was I so desperate for attention and affection that I just kissed some stranger? Someone’s wife? I thought I was better than that. That was very selfish behavior. Ugh. I need help. But there’s no one here. I look around the forest. Even the deer, I killed, and they are my only companions in this solitude. Wait- the deer? Did I put the meat on the fire? God, I don’t remember. I walk back to the castle and hang wet clothes up to dry in the laundry before I go to the kitchen. My hair is still damp, soaking the back of my shirt a little. It’s cold. I’m just now getting a shiver from bathing in the cold river. I turn the stove on and warm my hands. I should turn on the heating system. I look around, walking to the butcher room. There’s a bucket full of guts, and another full of blood. The two slain deer lay on the prepping table, un-prepped. There is blood all over the floor and the surface of the table. Even the wall. Fuck, I was being careless. And I didn’t even hang them up. I notice bloodstains going out into the hallway. What a mess. Oh well. It’s not like mother’s going to come around the corner and scold me. I sigh deeply.

After crying for a few minutes, I hang the deer carcasses from the ceiling hooks and skin them. Next, I remove the lower legs. I take the hindquarters, loins, neck meat, and inner tenderloins off of the carcass and lay them on the prepping table. It’s tedious work. I take most of the meat and double wrap it tightly in wax paper before I put it in the cool canister. There’s one in the prep room, just for game meat. The rest I bring over to the kitchen and lay down on the cutting board. My stomach is growling at me, and I know if I hadn’t just binged on blood, I would be starving to the point of passing out. I go to the cutting board and remove the grizzle and excess fat from the venison, throwing it in the garbage. I don’t have any vegetables or anything to go with it. I never did make it to the market. Instead, I broke down in tears on the forest floor like the sad, pathetic teenager I am. 

Curiously, I step into the pantry. The dry stores are almost completely depleted. All that’s left is a bit of lentils, olive oil, some various leaves for making soups, and two jars of pickled cabbage. Well, great. A fabulous dinner. Venison and sauerkraut. I seriously need to go to the market. I pour some oil on a pan and then lay strips of venison out. I boil some water in a little pan. While it’s cooking, I don’t know what to do. I look around the kitchen again, like I’m waiting for someone to walk in. My mom, my father, a servant, someone. No one comes. 

God, I already miss Trevor and Sypha so much. They were a pleasant distraction. Well, maybe not pleasant, but eh- what the hell? I miss them. I don’t want to think about my dead parents, so I think about them instead. My friends. Sypha has such a cute face. It’s really perfectly shaped, like a little heart. Big blue eyes that could melt your soul. Pouty, rosebud lips. It’s so endearing. Trevor also has a perfect face, in a very different, masculine way. He has a strong jaw, and a very nice profile. He has smooth lips, but scruffy stubble on his jaw. Black hair and ice-blue eyes. It’s really quite an interesting and striking look. Even if he is a brute. He can barely read. 

I don’t know why I think about him so fondly. Maybe we all remember people better in hindsight? Or in utter isolation? I’m not sure. But, I suppose, he’s not totally a lost cause. If he just had a shave, a proper bath, and some fresh clothes, he would be very nice looking. And if someone taught him to read and write properly, to educate him about literature and science, he wouldn’t be so bad. It’s a nice thought. I wish I could do that for him. I wish I could fix him up, take care of him, make him more respectable. I could bathe him and make him new clothes. We could sit together at my desk and I could teach him to read and write well. If he would listen, that is. I’m sure that would be a struggle. I could teach him mathematics, history, biology, literature. If he would take to it, and I doubt he would. Maybe sleeping in a proper bed, taking baths, and easing up on the drink would make him a suitable companion. It would be so nice to have a companion. My heart sinks a little. I remember when my mom would be cooking here, my father would come up behind her, very softly, and hold her waist. Kiss her temple. Whisper sweet things in her ear. Idly, I wish Trevor was behind me, freshly washed, that is. I wish he would hold me by the waist and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. His warmth against my back, his hands on my hips, his full lips against my skin, kissing my neck. 

“Ugh.” Why am I imagining this? What’s wrong with me? I shake it off, trying to rid myself of that daydream, focusing on my meal. The venison’s done cooking now. I season it, and pour out some pickled cabbage on the side. I sit down and eat at the table, alone. The venison tastes fine. I’ve never been a big fan of human food, but it’s okay. I eat, chewing repetitively. I’m hungry, so I’ll eat the whole meal. It’s so quiet. All I can hear is the sound of my own chewing and the distant calls of birds to their mates. I wish Sypha hadn’t ruined the electricity in here. If not, I could get the music machine working. I miss listening to music. Maybe that should be my next project? I could probably figure out how to get it up and running again. But it would be hard. And that would mean venturing into parts of the castle I’d really rather not visit. I could just play music myself. I can play the rebec and the lute. Quite well, actually. Or, at least, I used to. That would be much simpler. It’s much more fun to play for someone, though. But I have no one. My head droops down. I want to cry again, but I shake it off. No! Stop that. I’m not going to just break down like a child all the time. I need to get things done. I get up, wash my dinner plate, and the other dishes. The sun has set, and I light a couple of candles with magic. Maybe I should practice my magic? Or write? Or draw? But, I’m too sad to do most of those things. Perhaps I should simply read, or clean, or go to sleep. There is so much that needs to be cleaned. It’s daunting. 

How is a person supposed to live alone? And live here? There is so much to do, so much to accomplish, but for whom? Why clean areas I don’t need to live in? What’s the purpose? It’s not like I have visitors. Or someone to impress. My father had vampiric servants to help him and clean this castle. But I don’t have anyone. God, I wish I had servants. Then I would have someone to talk to. I could have someone to listen to me. I could make them sit with me while I eat meals, befriend them, someone, at least. I could have a friend. One who lives with me. I smile at the thought to no one at all. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Who cares about class rules? I could have a friend. What would it matter? I certainly like Sypha, and she doesn’t even have ten coins to her name. Neither does Belmont, for that matter. I definitely could enjoy a servant’s company. But what servant on Earth would work for me? They would have to be pretty fucking desperate to work in Dracula’s castle. I suppose I would have to take in some foreign servants. But even so, they would see my fangs. They would know I’m not human and run away. Everyone knows what vampires are. And almost everyone in the world knows who my father is. 

Well, humans, that is. I suppose I could get a dog. Or a cat. But animals never really take a liking to me. They’ve always been apprehensive of me. Maybe they can sense that I’m a predator, not a human, or maybe they can smell wolf on me, I’m not sure. However, perhaps one would come around to me? I can try. It’s not as futile as trying to get a human to live with me. I bite my lip, thinking for a minute. I look around the stillness of my room. The silence is deafening. Okay, I’ll try. When I go to the market next, I can see if anyone is selling dogs. Perhaps a litter. A puppy would be better, probably, because a puppy would be so young, would it even realize I’m a predator? Hm. A wolf can raise a puppy, yes? And they couldn’t tell? I think so.

Alright, it’s settled. Tomorrow, I’ll go grocery shopping, and I’ll get a dog. It would be so nice to have a little puppy dog on my lap. I wouldn’t be so lonely, as dogs are such cheerful creatures. The floppy ears, the delightful little barks. How endearing. Having a dog would give me a bit of a purpose, a focus. Something to take care of and something to cherish. It could sleep in my bed! Ah, what a wonderful thought! I wouldn’t be alone anymore. I smile in the middle of my empty kitchen at the prospect.

Later, I go to my bedroom and read. I finish the story from the day before and go on to read Culhwch and Olwen afterward. Halfway through, I tire. I brush my hair, I change into my nightgown, I brush my teeth. It’s so silent I can literally hear a mouse scurrying around, four rooms away. It’s hard not to think about Trevor and Sypha. Almost impossible to resist. It’s really not good to think about them so much. They didn’t even promise they would come back. I try to think about the puppy instead. Maybe I can make a little bed for it? And I could set out little bowls for it on the kitchen floor, one for water and one for food. I would need to buy a collar in town, or at least some leather so I can make it one. That way, I could take it on walks very easily. That would be so nice. I’ll have my little puppy. It can sit on my lap when I read. I can read to it if I wish. It wouldn’t care. I can pet it and have it sleep in my bed with me. Hopefully, I get a sweet one. One that will like me... Fuck, am I seriously worrying if a dog will like me? I guess that’s where I am now. No wonder my friends abandoned me. I’m not a hero at all, am I? I’m just a miserable man with no friends, hoping a dog will like me, scared that one won’t. Ridiculous and alone. Hopefully, tomorrow, going to town will be good for me. I can speak to a real person, and not just to get to their jugular. 

A/N: This was attached to the next chapter, but it was too long altogether, so I split it up. 


	6. The World is Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrian goes to town and makes new acquaintances.

“ _Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad._ ”  
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

* * *

_ My father’s hand is gripping my head, very tightly. He’s smashing my skull backward, into the concrete. Again, and again, and again. I’m a ragdoll. A bloody punching bag. My head feels like it’s going to burst, my lungs, like they’re going to collapse. It’s vision and blackness. Stars in my eyes. And it’s a horrid, searing pain. He holds me up again and punches me in the face, sending me flying backward, through the walls. I stand again, shaking desperately. My lungs struggle to heal, to take in air. He hits me. I stand again. He hits me. The world, the light is fading away. Who is this man? My father... is he possessed? Who is this beast? Where is my dad? Seeing him, feeling him doing these things, hurting me, killing me... It’s too horrifying to bear. I step back. I’m terrified. Is this the same man who tucked me into bed, who held my hand, who sang me to sleep? Is this the man who kissed my knee, and gave me life, and held me close when I cried? Is this him? Too broken, too horribly broken to remember? Remember me. Remember me, please. He shoves me again and I crash into my childhood bed. I can’t stand. I’m near to death, now. Any moment. I hear him gasp. He stops in his tracks.  _

_ “It’s your room.” _

_ I stand. We both look up, look at the stars, the night sky. It’s beautiful and navy blue. I would look up at it every night when he put me to sleep. Hundreds of times, thousands even, I would fall asleep to his voice, and a story, and the night sky. This painting. Does he remember it, too? His lips tremble. He clutches his heart. _

_ “My boy. I’m - I’m - I’m killing my boy. Lisa, I’m killing our boy. We painted this room, we made these toys… It’s our boy, Lisa.”  _

_ I break off the post of my bed. It’s too late now. I ready the stake. He’s too far gone. Too mad. And I will kill him with a piece of the bed he made for me. I have to. _

_ “Your greatest gift to me… and I’m killing him… I must already be dead.” _

_ His head tilts to the side, so gently. He doesn’t fight me. He doesn’t resist. Not anymore. He is already gone. This shell that used to be my father, this menace. It’s not him. He died long ago. But his eyes are so real, so very real, so much of what I remember. I wish I hadn’t seen his face, seen that expression I know so well. Too well. The man I love, the father I trusted more than anyone. And this is how it had to end. With a stake and a whimper.  _

_ “Son.” _

_ Father!  _

“Ah! Ah-” I scream, sitting up in bed. When the realization hits, I cry. It’s too much. I cry in deep, guttural sobs. I can’t help it. The pain is so intense. It’s horrifying. Shaking, I walk across the room to get ready. I need to get this nightmare… this memory out of my head. I wash my face with cold water and try to focus on anything at all, anything other than that voice, that expression, the feeling of his dying breath-

“Stop it! Breathe,” I order myself, sucking in a deep breath and then a shaky exhale. I repeat this a few times, leaning against my bathroom door. It’s done. It’s done. I did it. I had to.

_ I had to. I had to. I had to.  _

The mantra isn’t as relaxing as I wish it would be. It’s no use wasting my time reminiscing about the past. I splash my face again with water. Focus, focus. Breathe. I need to get ready. I carry out my little morning routine, even if my hands are shaking, trying desperately not to cry. I am strong, I can do this. No more will I break down. There are things to be done. Now is not the time for crying. I go to my wardrobe to get dressed, opting for a white linen shirt, a black vest and black pants to match. Brown leather boots and a suede leather coat. I tie my hair back in at the base of my head. My sword is propped up against my end table. I don’t really need it, but just to be safe I take a small throwing knife. The knot’s still lodged in my throat. Damn it! No crying. Stop. Not now. 

“Pull yourself together,” I yell to myself. I walk downstairs, grab my coin purse from the kitchen counter and tie it to my belt. I take a basket, for groceries, and a small waterskin as well. In a minute, I’m out of the house. Leaves crunch beneath my feet. The morning is actually pleasant, and the weather is juxtaposed by my foul mood. It was such a horrible nightmare. And yet, this stuff of nightmares, is my life. This was my reality. I killed my father. A shudder rolls through me at the thought.  _ The memory _ , I hiss. 

The springtime will be coming soon, and with it, warmth, life, and renewal. Beauty and energy. I will look forward to it. The winter is harsh and horrid. This has been the worst winter I could ever imagine. Really, it has been two separate winters, because I was asleep under my catacomb for a year, but I don’t remember that. I was in something of a coma. I feel like last year was a couple of months ago. Time is a strange, irrefutable thing. I force my eyes to focus, focus on the path in front of me, of the sounds of the wood and the life beneath my feet. Anything other than this mad, all-consuming guilt. I did the right thing.

_Didn’t I?_

It’s too uncomfortable to dwell on that thought. It will be a while, walking like this, to get to town. Birds chirp in my ear. Squirrels clamor up trees. I sigh. I bet they’re sleeping together already. Why wouldn’t they be? They’re together on the road, no one else around. Staying at inns together, probably. They don’t have me to hold them back anymore. Now that they’re rid of me, they’re free to have sex as often as they want. The thought drives a chill of anger down my spine. My stomach clenches in agony. Something about this seems so cruel, so unfair. 

_ The world is cruel, Adrian. The world is not fair. You need to be prepared for this.  _ I remember my father’s words of wisdom. Yes, he did warn me of this. I can still hear his voice, feel his large hand on my shoulder. The world is cruel, he was right. How is it fair that they get to be together, in love, and I have to be here? Alone, grieving, with no help from anyone at all? And these are my friends. I thought friends would be better to me than this. Maybe that’s an overdramatization. I tend to be overdramatic, I know. Maybe they don’t have any idea what they’re doing to me. Do I just expect them to assume or magically understand my feelings towards them? I didn’t even protest when they left. I was too consumed with grief and guilt to focus on that. Everything had happened too quickly. I should have told them I wanted them to stay. How can I ridicule and accuse them when I haven’t ever told them my feelings? I should have said I need you here, I want you here. Be by my side. Love me, hold me. Hang to me, don’t let me go. Please.

I have never shared these thoughts with them, these private emotions of want and hurt. Of desire and death. I’m grieving, I’m hurting. Couldn’t you see? Wasn’t it obvious? I was shaking, I am sad. How could you leave me alone? Do you even think of me? I haven’t even known them for that long. I sort of last track of time. What was it, a month? I think so. No, not even a month. And here I am wallowing in self-pity because they didn’t stay with me and dry my tears. Perhaps, I just thought that because of everything we went through together, as a unit, we would get over it together too. I guess not. It’s them and me. Me or them. Not us. Not like I want. Not like this. Alone, alone, alone. I feel like I’m going to cry, so I bite my lip, and raise my head. No! I’m not going to fall apart again. I am not that weak! I am not that pitiable!

I miss childhood, too, those days when I did not fear the man who made me. The man who would always help me along my way. Speaking sanely, feeling mainly, the tremors in my heart. The man who loved me and who called me Son. He would walk with me here, on these forest floors, and guide me on my way. He would reach out, and show me the world. Explaining every flower, the curve of every leaf, the way a water droplet falls. He taught me about the way of the world, the sun, the seasons, the mountains. How the world moves and changes. Any question I could fathom up, he answered, in those years. All my queries, every thought. Why do the stars twinkle so? Why does lightning strike? Where do all the animals go when the ground freezes? He always knew the answers. 

The town appears on the horizon. It’s not very large. Only a couple of main buildings that I can tell. It has a church, two taverns, and a town meeting chamber of some sort. Or possibly a county government building. Another building seems to have been ruined in the demon attacks. I pass through the graveyard on my way into town. The amount of fresh graves is staggering, and yet not surprising. This town seems to be surviving despite the raids. I wonder how many survived the raids. There is a light sprinkling of snow. I look up at the party cloudy skin, sun and snow falling down upon the earth from the Heavens above. I should have worn my hat. The path between the graves is narrow, and this graveyard is so incredibly full that they will surely have to expand upon the lot sometime soon. The sounds of people are becoming clearer now. I can see a dozen or so small houses from here, most of them one-room homes. There are only a couple of mid-sized homes. This is a pretty poor village. A farming village, it seems. I see several farmers, in the distance, bringing in their crops to sell in the market. One, wide and stout, brings in cabbages and leafy greens. Another farmer, tall in stature, has beets and carrots to sell. I can hear some typical morning chatter among the populace. People are up and about, going through their daily routines. I pass a small home and enter the main road of the town. Children run past me without a second glance, too busy playing their youthful games. Looking around, I spot a small-town market to my left. Even from here, I can smell a baked goods stand. My stomach rumbles. I walk down the muddy main road, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. I have no sword, only a basket. Surely they won’t see me as threatening. There are several people walking around. Mostly wives, it seems, doing their shopping for the day. Children run past again. A cool breeze blows my long hair over my shoulder. I take careful steps towards the little market stalls, reminding myself not to bare my fangs or make too much eye contact. I approach the little baked goods stall. Baskets of baked goods have been brought under the protection of the awning, keeping the snow away from the warm loaves. I inhale deeply. It’s a wonderful smell. The small woman underneath the awning pulls on her thick shawl. She has wiry black hair, pulled back in a bun. Her plump cheeks are tinted red from the cold morning air.

“Good morning, sir,” she calls out, looking me up and down, “Haven’t seen you ‘here before.” Her dark eyes look over my pale face.

“Good morning. I live several miles outside of town. Well, I’m building a property. Nice to meet you, Miss?”

“Corbu. Nice to meet you. I didn’t catch your name, Mr-?” 

“Adrian Troje,” I lie quickly enough, careful not to open my mouth much when I speak. I avert her watchful gaze, looking instead at the baked goods in front, freshly baked. 

“Could I buy two of your  _ Brânzoaică? _ And a large bread loaf, as well please,” I ask, and she nods. My mouth waters at the sight and smell of the  _ Brânzoaică,  _ the pastry stuffed with sweet cheese and flavored with vanilla and raisins. I remember eating these in my younger years.

“Sure. That’ll be four coins, sir,” she holds her hand out and I drop the silver into her palm. She packages them and puts them in my basket.

“May I ask why you’re moving into this area, sir?” She seems slightly discomforted by my inhumanly pale features and tall stature.

“I want to have a fresh slate. A new beginning, of sorts. A new area.”

“Do you have a family, Mister?” She asks, watching me with a side glance. She already seems suspicious of me.

“No, unfortunately. Not anymore. They died during Dracula’s attacks, a little while ago now. That’s the reason I came out here. I want a fresh start.” The fish seller nearby looks on at us now, looking me over. It’s easy to lie. And it’s not that far from the truth, anyway. She nods. This is a normal enough answer nowadays.

“I’m terribly sorry. Your wife and kids?” She asks, handing back the basket. 

“No, my parents.” 

“Ah. I see. One of my children was killed in the raids. My boy. He was eaten by a demon… I know your pain, sir,” she sighs. She seems to have forgotten my inhuman appearance for now, dropping her head in sadness at the remembrance of her son’s death.

“My condolences.” I’m about to walk to another stall when a stout man approaches. He has a rough beard and large brown eyes. An apron is tied around his rough tunic. He gives his wife a kiss on the cheek before he notices me. When he does, his eyes go wide, and he has to look up to meet my face. I’m a good head taller than most Wallachians, even the men. 

“Hello, sir,” he greets.

“This is a Mr. Adrian Troje, new to the area. He’s building a property, a few miles out,” the baker’s wife cuts in.

“Ah! Nice to meet you, Mr. Troje. Whereabouts is the property?” He asks, looking at my too-clean clothes.

“To the east.” Lie. It’s west, but I don’t want any of these people coming close enough to see my castle. It’s actually more like nine or ten miles, but it doesn’t matter. It’s all a lie. Not like I can really tell the truth here.

“I see. Well, we had a wood seller here, but he was killed by a demon in the raids. He didn’t have any sons, so I’m not sure who’s going to take over his work. We’ll see. If I were you, I’d go to Balsa village. I think they have a wood seller and a carpenter.” I nod. It’s insane to realize how many people died in my father’s attacks. This is all such a tragedy. There’s a grey cloud that casts over everyone, despite the pleasantness of the morning. So many are dead now. It’s morbid. 

“Thank you. And thanks for the bread. I’ll enjoy it,” I respond. He smiles, and I turn to go to another stall. I buy what I can. Some fruit preserves, almonds, butter, garlic, eggs, cabbage, carrots, and lastly, some yellow cheese. Good enough. It’s a small town, so there really are only the basics. But this should keep me full. The people were either kind or curt. Not too many people are out, really. Most of them are dead, probably. Nobody seemed to be in good spirits, but what could I ever expect? They all probably go home at the end of the day and cry over their dead loved ones. This really is a cruel world. Ah, I almost forgot about the dog! I return to the baker’s stall. 

“Mr. Corbu?” I ask, approaching slowly.

“Oh, yes?” He wipes his hands on his apron.

“Do you happen to know if anyone in town has dogs to sell? I’m looking to buy one.”

He strokes his beard pensively, thinking. His brow furrows, and he turns to call over his shoulder to where his wife is, inside the house.

“Carla, dear, do you know if anyone in town has a litter? Mr. Torju is wondering about a dog,” he asks. His wife comes back out, placing fresh bread in the stall’s baskets. She shakes her head. 

“No, I don’t know about that. I think most people did have to eat their dogs, during the worst of the raids. We all went hungry for a while during the worst of it. It was a terrible winter.” She scowls, looking up at me.

“Yes, unfortunately, most of them were eaten. Either by the demons, or by their owners who grew desperately hungry. I haven’t seen many dogs around lately. Sorry, Mr. Torju,” he answers, looking as sullen as anyone would expect him to be.

“It’s alright. I understand.” 

“I’ll ask around town for you, sir. When you come back to shop, I can let you know. I’m sure at least a few dogs survived the raids,” he offers, kindly. I smile shallowly.

“Thank you.”

“Good luck to you sir. We’ll see you around.” I look briefly, into his kind eyes, and immediately regret it. I forget too often, I shouldn’t show my eye color. They’re too unnaturally colored. Humans don’t have gold eyes. I avert them quickly, and walk backward.

“Goodbye.” His wife returns the goodbye and I walk away, heading East. I’ll have to walk further, but I can’t back out of my lie from before. I think about Sypha and Trevor on the way home, of course. I imagine that I would cook them a nice meal, and we could all sit together and eat. An idle fantasy, but I have the time, don’t I? After a long walk, I’m back at the castle. I’m partly annoyed to go back inside. I know that I won’t have anyone to converse with for a long time now. Back to my lonely life. I sigh and head to the kitchen to unpack my groceries. Once they’re all packed away, I prepare some eggs in a pan with butter. Bread and jam on the side. When it’s ready, I sit at the table. The meal is tasty, and it feels good to eat, but I’m so disappointed on the inside. 

I miss talking with someone. Anyone. Even strangers. Just going into town made me realize how isolated I am. The world feels empty and barren. The graveyards are full and my heart is empty. Not even a dog can keep me company. I groan. I want to drink. Hm. At dinner. I spend the afternoon reading in my room, trying to distract myself. It’s boring. I’m in too sad of a mood to enjoy reading. For a long time, I simply lie on my bed, looking at the chiffon tapestries that hang above my bed. I listen to the birds outside. I wish I had the energy to play a song. To paint. To draw. To do something. I’m so lazy and I don’t know why. It’s my sadness, I suppose. It’s weighing me down. A ball and chain secured to my heart. I wish Sypha was here to comfort me. And Trevor too. I wish they would sit with me in my bed, and hold my hand, and tell me I’m going to be alright. I wish Sypha would run her fingers through my long hair. I wish Trevor would make his stupid jokes. The sun sets, painting my room orange and red. Maybe they’ll forget about me. Maybe they won’t even come back. They didn’t ever promise to come see me. That thought makes me so upset, I can barely stand it. If they don’t come back, then I’ll really have no one. No one at all. Is this the life ahead of me? Is that even a life at all, if there’s no purpose? Fuck it. 

I need a drink.

* * *

**A/N: Please review!**


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